‘Come on,’ Beth said. ‘I’m going to teach you how to use soap and water.’
It felt strange washing in a basin instead of a stream or a pond; turning on taps for water and getting the strange foamy lather from the white block of soap. For Nab it was a series of new and exciting experiences and for Beth a poignant reminder of all that she had left behind; the smell of the soap, the feel of the towel on her face, the gurgle of the water as she pulled the plug out of the basin and the scent of the talcum powder. When she had finished washing, she went over to Ivy’s dressing table and, bracing herself, sat down on the little stool and looked in the mirror. What she saw surprised her. She had expected to be shocked and a little dismayed but instead she was strangely fascinated. Her hair hung in a great shock of curls down to her shoulders and looked fairer than she remembered it because it had been bleached by all the sun that summer, and her face was brown and weatherbeaten. But it was her eyes that really surprised her. They seemed much bigger and rounder than before and she saw in them what she had seen in Nab’s that very first time they had met, so long ago, down by the stream. They were indescribably clear and deep and she had the uncanny feeling that when she looked at them in the mirror, she was looking straight down into her own soul. But she saw more than that. Her eyes were those of a wild animal; full of energy, constantly alert, and with an innocence and purity that made them shine back at her from the mirror with such intensity that she sat riveted for so long that eventually Nab came over to her and put his face next to hers so that, to his delight, it too was reflected. They looked at their reflections in the mirror and smiled at them and then Nab pulled a funny face and Beth stuck out her tongue and they began to laugh.
There was a wooden-handled hairbrush on the dressing table top and Beth began brushing out all the tangles and curls and tousles in her hair while Nab watched entranced. It felt lovely to be using a brush again and she spent a long time running it slowly down her head from the top of the crown right down to the very ends of her hair. When she had finished she got up from the little stool and told Nab to sit on it.
‘It’s about time you had a brush through yours, ’ she said, laughing. 'You look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
Nab marvelled at the confident way she handled all these hundreds of different human instruments and at all their many uses, taps, knives, forks, plates, towels, brushes: the list went on for ever and he tried to go through them all in his head while Beth brushed his hair but he soon became muddled and confused. It was all very complicated, he thought with amusement.
Finally she finished and, going over to the bed, Beth pulled back the sheets. Ivy had put them clean on that day and they were white and crisp and smelt of lavender. Slowly she got between them until, at last, she lay full length on the big soft bed and savoured to the full that delicious first moment of utter relaxation when the whole weight of her body was supported by the bed and she was able to let go of it completely. She closed her eyes and sighed; a long blissful sigh of happiness and contentment. Nab stood looking down at her. It had been a long time since they were able to relax together and he was enjoying the sight of her golden hair spread out on the white pillow and the look of perfect peace on her face.
When she opened her eyes and saw him still standing, she patted the bed beside her. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘get in; it’s lovely.’
Carefully he copied what Beth had done and pulling back the sheets, gingerly climbed into the bed. At first as he sank into it he felt terribly unsafe and insecure as if he were lying on a bed of air and he lay tense and stiff, but after a minute or two he began to relax and by the time Beth leant over to blow the candle out he was fast asleep. She smiled to herself and gently kissed him on both his closed eyelids.
‘Goodnight, Nab,’ she said softly. ‘Sleep well,’ and, snuggling up with her arms around him, was soon lost in a deep and peaceful sleep.
CHAPTER XX
In the kitchen, Warrigal had woken up to see the dying embers of the fire casting red shadows on the inert sleeping bodies of Brock and Perryfoot and, in the middle of the room, he saw the old couple lying fast asleep on some cushions on the floor. Everything was quiet except for the sound of the wind outside and the gentle snores and heavy breathing of Brock and Jim inside. He felt refreshed and invigorated after his long sleep and decided that he would go outside to explore for a while. Luckily a window had been left open and soon the owl was out in the night, winging his way under the stars over the gorse and heather of the silent, sleeping moorland. The rain had stopped now and the smell of the damp earth filled the air, but the storm had broken the hot weather and the wind that blew down off the mountains was cool; an autumn wind, Warrigal thought, that signals the ending of summer. The sky was clear, black and infinitely deep and although there was only a tiny arc of the new moon, the stars twinkled and danced brightly.
The cool fresh night air felt wonderful to Warrigal as he glided silently, like a dark shadow, through the night. He felt happier and more contented than he had for a long, long time. Nab, Beth and the others were safely resting inside the house; tomorrow they would leave and, if luck was with them, they would very soon arrive at the home of the mountain elves and their journey would have come to its conclusion. 'What then?’ he thought. 'Where would it all end?’ and for a few moments he allowed his mind to wander back to Silver Wood and to the early days. They seemed a long way off now, almost a dream, and when a picture of the wood as they had left it at the end flashed in front of his eyes he felt a wave of bitter grief and anger well up inside so that he wrenched his mind away from those painful memories and gave himself up to the sheer joy of flying.
He dipped and dived and swooped and glided, feeling the wind rush through his feathers and clear them of all the dust and grit that they had gathered during the long dry arid days when they had been making their way across the lowlands. He was flying back along the Roosdyche they had been following the previous day when they were being pursued by the Urkku when gradually he became aware of sounds in the air. It was nothing very much at first and he dismissed it but the further he flew back down the hill the more persistent and loud did the noise become. It seemed to be coming up the hill towards him; a steady regular noise, constant with no breaks and yet punctuated by a steady relentless rhythm in the background. Warrigal felt his brief moment of optimistic confidence evaporate until it was entirely gone and he was left with the empty sick feeling of fear with which he was becoming more and more familiar.
There was a large bushy hawthorn tree on his left and he decided to perch there in the cover of the branches until he could see what was causing the noise. He made his way silently into the thickest part of the foliage and found a good spot where he could see out quite clearly through gaps in the leaves but experience told him he could not be seen. He settled down nervously to wait and then, suddenly, way down in the valley below and just beginning the long climb up on to the moors, he saw it. At first he was not quite sure what it was; it looked like an enormous caterpillar, the body of which was black but which had a bright red streak stretching all the way along its back. It wound its slow and ponderous way through the twists and turns of the foothills, weaving like a snake alongside the meanders of the stream in the valley up which it was coming.
The owl watched mesmerized as the thing came nearer and then as it left the foothills and started out on to the edge of the moors, he realized with a shudder what it was. Its body was made up of hundreds of Urkku wearing dark clothing and walking in twos and threes as if they were in a procession. Most of them were carrying flaming torches raised above their heads and it was these that had looked at a distance like the flickering red gash along the caterpillar’s back.